


Lost and Found

by lovesbxtch



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, Season 3 AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-18 00:57:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5891941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovesbxtch/pseuds/lovesbxtch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Goes AU post-Becoming pt 2. Buffy catches a bus to L.A. and tries to start anew in Los Angeles and leave everything Slayer related far behind. That becomes difficult when Spike flees into L.A. from his own heartbreak. Once they have their first encounter, things change. They try to avoid each other and the memories seeing each other brings back, but the Powers that Be have other ideas. Eventually Spuffy, but they'll hate each other for awhile!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost and Found

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: None of the characters/canon material belongs to me. I'm just borrowing Joss' toys for my Spuffy needs.
> 
> Second Disclaimer: I've had most of this fic written for awhile -- the gross, infantile state of this fic is posted on Fanfic.net from ages ago, don't read it, you'll regret it -- but I'm finally revisiting it and revising it. The first few chapters will be posted pretty consistently, but I can't vouch for after that. Anyways, enough yammering, enjoy! Feedback is always appreciated :)

It was the first time she had ever felt so alone. Even as the Slayer she hadn’t been alone. She’d had friends and a Watcher that were in on it. What was she now? Just a girl with nothing left. Here she was, on a cramped bus as the sun came up and she was just passing the Now Leaving Sunnydale sign. The blonde fought desperately against letting her thoughts drift again to what she’d had to do, but it was to no avail. Curled into a seat on the bus with her arms wrapped around her knees, silent tears tracked down her cheeks as she stared out the window. The seat reeked of cigarette smoke, and she kept feeling the gaze of the strange man across the aisle on her, but she was too worn out to care. She briefly wondered if her friends had noticed she was gone yet. She wondered if her mom was still angry with her. She told you not to come back. Maybe you should listen for once a cruel inner-voice chastised her. She’d caused her mom enough trouble. Sunnydale was supposed to be different, and here she was ruining everything again. She settled further into the seat and wished she could disappear into the cloth material. 

A few hours later she was jostled back to reality when the bus pulled to a stop. Grabbing up her bag of belongings, she took the first few terrifying steps into the unknown. For the first time in her life, she was utterly alone to face whatever lie ahead. Buffy wiped the remnants of tears from her face and stepped off the bus. She let out a sigh. It was pouring down rain. Great. The girl scurried off the bus and took shelter under the covered bus stop. She was determined to be strong, and that meant no more tears. She'd just find a place to stay, and a job, and then go from there. It was obvious she wasn't wanted anymore in Sunnydale. She'd been expelled, blamed for a crime she didn't commit, and kicked out of her own house by her mother. Buffy had lost everything and there was just no getting it back . . . like Angel. She'd never see him again, she killed him. He had a soul and she killed him. Holding back a sob that threatened to escape, she peered at a map of the city and found a motel that was just a few blocks away. It looked like she was going to get wet. 

Even raining, five o' clock was a busy time for L.A. Buffy found herself feeling increasingly uncomfortable as she made her way through the crowded streets. She failed to realize she was one of the many lost souls that were running away from something and wound up in Los Angeles. Buffy sniffled and wiped at her eyes before she entered the Sunset Motel. Her hair was sticking to her face, her clothes were drenched, and her makeup was smeared around her eyes by the time she walked up to the counter in the cheap motel. The old woman didn't even notice her disheveled state, she just asked for the nightly rate and handed her a key. Buffy nodded her thanks, and resolved to look for a job the next day; she only had enough cash for about a week in the motel, and that wasn’t including food. She unlocked her door, ignoring the sounds coming through the paper thin walls from the room next door. _Why do motel walls have to be so thin?_ She wondered absently as she set down her bag. She hadn't showered since the day before, so that was first on her agenda. 

Buffy tossed her duffle bag on the bed and pulled out Mr. Gordo and hugged him close to her chest before she placed him on the motel bed and began digging through her duffle for the small bag of her bathroom supplies. Gathering up her shower necessities, Buffy went into the bathroom, and closed and locked the door behind her. She set down her clothes on the slightly grimy counter. When she looked up, she nearly gasped at how different, and if she was being honest, horrible, she looked. Her wet hair was hanging lankly around her pale face, her eyes were red from crying, and her makeup was smeared down her cheeks. Cordelia would have had a field day with her if she saw her. Buffy couldn't stop the tears from pooling in her eyes. Wiping angrily at her eyes, she ignored the awful aching feeling in her chest, and turned on the shower. Even thinking about _Cordelia_ was upsetting; she’d reached new lows apparently. The water was lukewarm at best, but it didn't matter at that moment. She didn’t notice anyways. Quickly showering, Buffy scrubbed fiercely at her skin, hoping that she could just wash away everything that happened. It didn't work, but she did feel a little better. 

After dressing and drying her hair, Buffy looked to see what time it was. The sun was going to set any minute now. She felt around in her bag for some socks – no way was she walking on this carpet barefoot. Instead of socks, she came back with a stake. Her heart thudded in her chest. Being the Slayer ruined her life. The Slayer killed Angel. The Slayer is what got Buffy kicked out of her house. Kicked out of Hemry and Sunnydale High She dropped the sharpened wood like it burnt her, tossed her bag onto the floor, and curled up on the bed with her knees pulled to her chest. She couldn’t be the Slayer anymore. She couldn’t. She was just a girl. Buffy’s eyes didn’t leave the stake lying on her bed though. She didn’t have to go out and fight the bad guys, but she couldn’t just be another helpless victim. With a sigh, Buffy pushed herself up, grabbed the stake, and shoved it under her pillow. Once that was done, she tugged the thin covers over her and stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep. 

************** 

Spike cursed at himself for not having any whiskey in his car. Not like he was bloody prepared for his night turning into a night he needed to drink himself into a stupor. He was going to have to go on a blackout binge when he reached L.A. He figured he would kill some bloke, steal his dosh, and use it to buy out a liquor store. Spike could hole up in a motel somewhere and drink himself silly. Spike slammed his fist into the middle of the wheel and nearly startled the poor bloke driving in front of him off the road when his horn honked. He'd hardly made it out of Sunnydale when Drusilla woke up and violently attacked him in the car. He'd nearly crashed his Desoto before he calmed her down enough for her to explain what was wrong. She raved at him, telling him that he was just covered in The Slayer, that he was gripped in her tendrils of light and was burning up for her. He wasn't her dark, deadly boy anymore. Spike had begged for her to stay, so they could work things out in Brazil, but she just clawed at him, her nails scraping against his cheek, and caused blood to run down his face. Instead of licking his wounds like she normally did when she scratched him, she’d thrown open the door and hissed in pain as the sunlight hit her skin. Even though she'd just made it clear she wanted nothing to do with him, Spike had pulled her back in and slammed the door shut. She squirmed in his grip, calling him all sort of nasty names, but finally he’d convinced her that he would let her off at the subway station so she could go to Brazil by herself. 

Tears stung in his eyes, but he ignored them, replacing the sadness with anger at the bloody bint. He'd done everything for her. Only her! He fucking got her healed, got her the Judge, and wanted to keep her safe even when she was going around fucking Angelus in _their_ bed. And this was how she repaid him? Over a century of being hers, and she tossed him away like this? “Ungrateful bitch!” He growled while he turned up the stereo and filled his car with the sound of screaming guitars and the angry vocals from a Rancid song. “We do what we want! _Fuck you!_ We say what we want! _Fuck you!”_ Spike yelled along with the music, and he filled himself with restless, angry energy. 

Spike visibly relaxed when he finally saw the sign on the side of the road. It was beckoning him to the City of Angels. _More like City of the Walking Happy Meals,_ he thought. Nobody noticed when somebody went missing from the wrong side of the tracks here. He grinned as he parked his car at a popular demon bar. Before he stepped inside the building though, he spotted a person scurrying into the alley behind the bar, probably hoping for a faster way home. A wicked grin lit up the blonde's face as he took a detour from the bar and followed the person. He was silent in his approach, the young man completely unaware of his presence until it was too late. Spike didn’t much care for eating blokes – he preferred his meals to be petite and blonde – but he smelled like booze, and Spike hoped his wallet wasn’t empty. He’d at least have a bloody credit card in there. Coming up from behind, Spike grabbed him and smashed him back against the brick wall. The man started to yell and struggle, but Spike slammed his head back into the wall again and the vampire snarled. 

"Ah-ah, none of that now. It'll be quick, you're just a meal. Don’t think I’ll much enjoy you," Spike complained. He slammed a fist into the bloke’s ample gut and chuckled as the guy cried out in pain. The man’s eyes widened even more in fear as Spike vamped in front of him and licked his fangs. He snarled once more and sank his fangs into the man’s thick neck. Spike drank deep and the familiar taste of alcohol hit his tongue and went straight to his head. Of course, when the bloke pissed himself and the strong scent of urine filled Spike’s nostrils, he shoved the half-dead man away in disgust and snapped his neck before he hit the ground. 

“You humans are bloody disgusting,” Spike complained, wiping the blood from his lips with the back of his hands. Thankfully the man’s wallet was in his jacket pocket, not his jeans. “Always appreciate the little things, eh?” he commented to the corpse at his feet as he dug the wallet out and flipped through it. For the first time in a long while, luck was on Spike’s side. The man must’ve just gone out to the ATM for more dosh for his booze because the wallet was stuffed with a decent few pristine twenties and a credit card. Spike dropped his vampiric visage, tucked the wallet into his duster pocket, and walked off with a new spring in his step. His heart still ached for his dark goddess, but the promise of copious amounts of alcohol and smokes was enough to keep him going. 

An hour before the sun was ready to set and roast his ass, Spike stumbled out of the liquor store with a plastic sack full of his old pal Jack Daniels. The cash in the man’s wallet from earlier that night had been spent on the demon bar across town and then the booze and fags to take home, so Spike was now relying on using the card for the motel. Not like they ever paid any mind to how you paid. He was pleasantly numb as he made his way down the street to the motel, and hopefully the booze would help him sleep. He was a mere shadow of his former self, beaten down by Drusilla’s harsh rejection. Spike brought a hand to the mostly healed scratches on his face and sighed. 

A few minutes later and he amped up the charm for the old lady behind the counter – not that it mattered. She didn’t even glance at the name on the card or ask for identification when he paid for the next few days with it. He figured the cops wouldn’t find the guy for a few days at least – this _was_ L.A. -- and by the time they did, Spike would be elsewhere. He smirked as he pulled open the door and closed it behind him just as the sun began to rise. In a few moments, he had all the blinds shut nice and tight before he was roasted, tossed down his bag of liquor store haul into the chair in the room, and the troubled vampire threw himself down face-first on the bed. In mere moments he was fast asleep . . . his body as still as the corpse he was. 

*************** 

Buffy awoke far before dawn. Her sleep was plagued with nightmares about Angel. About how she killed him. She shivered as she fought off the lingering nightmares. 

_“Buffy. I love you.”_

_“I love you too, Angel.”_

_“Then why did you kill me? You sent me to hell, Buffy. You hurt everyone around you. They’re better off without you.”_

She wanted nothing more than to pull the covers up over her head and just disappear, but that wasn’t going to pay for a place to stay – or food, she amended her thought process when her stomach growled loudly. It was still going to be dark out for a few more minutes, but Buffy got up and got dressed anyways. She’d get something to eat, find a job, and then go from there. 

Pulling her hair up into a tight ponytail, Buffy strode across the room where her bag was stowed on the chair in the room. She grabbed the money she’d had tucked in the bag and stuffed it in her pocket before opening the motel door. Immediately the hair on the back of her neck stood up and she felt her muscles tense. _Vampire._ Buffy’s hand automatically went to her jacket pocket only to come back empty. Her heart thudded, and her gaze darted around. She caught a flash of platinum blonde hair disappearing into the neighboring motel room, but it was so brief she hardly paid any mind to it. Shaking off her urge to check out her surroundings despite the rising sun, Buffy locked her motel door behind her and tucked the key back into her pocket. 

After a quick trip to the check-in area of the _Sunset Motel_ – where finding out about nearby places to eat from the old woman at the front desk was like pulling teeth – she prepared for the couple blocks she’d need to cover to find the diner she spoke of. When Buffy found it, she wished she hadn’t. It was run-down and on the seedier side of L.A., but the rumbling of her stomach sent her walking towards the front door of the _Sunrise Diner_ – more like the _Sun Die_ from all the lights that were out on the sign -- which suddenly made the place one thousand times creepier. 

Buffy felt the eyes of the few middle-aged men seated inside on her as soon as she entered, and it sent a shiver up her spine. She scurried over to a corner booth and hid behind a menu until a waitress came up to take her order. A flicker of terror went through her. She only had ten dollars to her name. A blush stained her cheeks and she could barely meet the older woman’s gaze. 

“What can I get with this?” Buffy asked in a small voice as she pulled out a few crumpled bills and some change. 

Surprisingly, the woman’s expression became sympathetic. If Buffy hadn’t looked so young and so lost, the woman would have treated her like all the other drifters that stopped by the diner. This girl reminded her of herself when she was her age though. She was obviously running from something. The waitress placed her hand lightly on Buffy’s. 

“For half that I can get ya a plate of breakfast and a job if you need it, sweetheart. The last girl we had quit yesterday, and we can always use pretty girls like you around,” the waitress, Betty, answered. Her voice and appearance was rough, like she’d lived a hard life, but Buffy was able to bring out a bit of her old spark. Betty wasn’t about to let this girl burn out and fade away like she had. 

“Thank-you so much,” Buffy replied with tears of gratitude burning in her eyes. This was about the last thing she’d expected would happen. She couldn’t help but wonder how pathetic and lost she looked. 

When Betty returned with her plate of eggs, sausage, and toast, Buffy dug in – especially when she realized she hadn’t eaten the night before. The majority of her meal passed in silence until the owner of the diner came by her table and brought up the job opening Betty had told her about. He was an absolute skeeze-ball and his gaze was more like a constant leer, but this was probably the best opportunity she’d have. He didn’t even ask for ID or anything. 

“When can you start . . .?” He trailed off, expecting her to fill in the gap with her name. 

“Anne. I can start whenever,” she replied, the fake name breezing past her lips. She was Anne now. It was also a lot less conspicuous than Buffy. 

The owner, Paul, nodded and disappeared into the back of the diner. Betty came by and took Buffy’s plate, and offered to show her the ropes when she started. All in all, Buffy was having a far better day than she expected. She was still alone and terrified, but at least she had some sort of direction. 

A few moments later Paul returned with a uniform and a name tag. He handed it over to Buffy and nodded towards the restroom. 

“You start now. Betty will train you,” he told her before walking off into the back again, past the kitchen. 

With her hands full of the uniform and her eyes as wide as saucers, Buffy walked towards the restroom and hoped by the end of the day she still _had_ this job.


End file.
